Sold

2: Slave Traders

A loud crunch awakens me.

My eyes shoot open and every muscle in my body stiffens. The comforting sunlight and dancing Neyenflies are gone, replaced by the eerie darkness of the forest past nightfall.

Silence surrounds me and even the moonlight above is stifled by dark purple clouds. My lips part. How could I be so foolish? How could I carelessly fall asleep like that? I sit up quickly, heart racing, and hear another crunch.

Whatever it is, it's close. Very close.

I push myself off the ground but before I can move, a weight strikes me flat down. My bones crash against the hard dirt as an immovable weight presses upon me. I try to scream, but only manage a mouthful of dirt and an unintelligible, muffled noise. Kicking, wiggling, and flailing turns out equally ineffective.

Cold metal clicks shut around my wrists. I close my eyes and fresh, angry, mournful tears spill down my cheeks. The shackles can only mean one thing: The slave traders are real. I should have listened. I never should have left my village and run off.

I may hate my life, but the life of a slave...isn't even comparable.

"Meben, please! I'm sorry, help me!" I scream, but no one answers. Meben is long gone, and I feel foolish for tricking him with the fake trail. I cry out for my father, hoping by chance he decided to venture out looking for me.

But he doesn't care that much. No one cares that much. My mother would have stayed up all night long searching for me if I went missing, but she was the only one.

My assaulter jerks me off the ground and pushes me through the trees toward a wagon. He tosses me inside and slides a latch on the door shut.

I scream again but know the sound won't make it far through the thick wood. I throw my body against the door, choking on sobs until I feel bruises forming on my wrists and ankles from straining against my shackles.

I imagine Meben, back at the village chatting with a flock of my tribespeople around him, giving up on the idea of finding me. If I hadn't been stupid and I'd just let him follow my trail, I'd be home safe right now. I shriek and slam my fists into the wagon floor.

I want out.

I scream until my lungs ache and I no longer know if I'm screaming because of the kidnapping or because of my entire life.

What have I gotten myself into?

The wagon lurches forward, tossing me against the side of my compartment. I whimper as my shrieks cut off. My body and vocal cords ache, and I feel exhausted. I lay my head against the wall of the shaking wagon and force myself to sleep.

The snap of the wagon latch startles me awake. The door creaks open, and a sliver of light trickles in. I steal a peek through the wood. Outside, puffy purple clouds meet a rising orange glow. It's morning? I wonder how far away from my village we are.

A figure steps between me and the sunrise, cloaking the wagon in darkness. Even though I've never seen one before, I can tell he's a Genren. He is everything my tribe described the Genren to be: wide and enormously tall, with dark grey skin and yellow rimmed eyes. His stocky body reminds me of Meben's, but bulkier, while his facial features pull together in a rootlike twist.

My tribe taught me barely anything about our continent's other races, but staring at the twists of the Genren's features makes me curious. Why does my tribe stay so closed off in the forest? Why don't we study these intriguing other races more?

All we know are our four adjacent neighbors - nothing beyond that - and very little about them. We stay mostly secluded from them: the indulgent serpentines, brutish hoglike Genren, money-hungry antlered Venisent, and bloodthirsty Draconia.

The Genren sneers and grabs me by the hair, searing pain down my scalp. He tugs me out of the wagon and I trip over my shackles, tumbling into the dirt. A snicker bursts from his wide lips and he yanks me back to my feet.

I choke out a whimper as he kicks me into a large burrow cratered on the forest floor. I squeeze into the hole, packed rock surrounding me on all sides, as my feet reluctantly step down a staircase.

Dim red light glows from the end of the corridor. A low roar of chatter grows louder and louder as I approach the light until my vision focuses. My brows arch and I realize I'm descending into a massive underground amphitheater.

There is so much to take in that my eyes don't know what to settle upon first. Bright orbs of magick-lit lights flicker and levitate along the ceiling while a maroon and gold fur carpet blossoms across the floor of the giant rectangular room.

Rows of seats decorated with green and gold twisting vines sit facing an elevated stage. The entire space is packed to the brim with people of races I've only heard fantasies about - and many I've never even heard whispers of. Not only are there the adjacent clans, but there must be hundreds of other non-native visitors. A peppy melody plays beneath their chatter.

The Genren shoves me along the edge of the room, confining us to the shadows until we reach a back room. Dimly lit and full of cages, this room is a stark contrast to the buzzing pep of the amphitheater. 

Each cage is stuffed with prisoners in shackles, many covered in dirt and rags. Their bones look thinner than a Neyenfly's delicate wings and their empty eyes stare at me like the dead.

Will I soon wear the same stare?